


69

by Mother_North



Series: Heartache [10]
Category: Figure Skating RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Angst and Porn, Fantasizing, M/M, Pining, Psychology, Short One Shot, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:35:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26324248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mother_North/pseuds/Mother_North
Summary: Sixty-nine is a mere digit but not inside his dirty mind.
Relationships: Javier Fernández/Yuzuru Hanyu
Series: Heartache [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1090485
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	69

**Author's Note:**

> This pose is seriously underrated in fanfiction ;)
> 
> RPF disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and it is not meant to offend anyone. It is a product of author’s imagination only. All thoughts, actions and emotions described below have nothing to do with reality.

~

_Sixty nine_ is a mere digit; it’s uneven and tragically devoid of the harmony of round numbers: a _six_ and a _nine_ placed side by side – two antipodes in a mirrored symmetry.

_69._

Yuzuru doesn’t see himself as someone too preoccupied with numbers and various meanings they hold. He doesn’t look for any hidden significance in them. Obsessive count of objects doesn’t bother him as an inevitable symptom of inner anxiety. He has an inclination for exact sciences and possesses a mind of a mathematician (thanks to his father’s occupation), but his life path hardly has anything to do with that of a scientist. Although, genes are a stubborn thing and they have to be reckoned with. Ability to think analytically and calculate different outcomes strategically somehow coexists in him with a sensitivity and passionate nature of a true artist.

_A laser beam that cuts through the tender velvet of a rose petal._

Yuzuru was pedantic and punctual. He loved everything strictly organized and established: from the precise quantity of calories he has eaten to the determined number of identical white t-shirts on a shelf of his wardrobe: on Tuesdays – the first one at the top of a pile, on Thursdays – the second from below, on Fridays – the black _Emporio Armani_.

Rituals helped to chase away obnoxious fears, decreased levels of anxiousness, helped to alleviate the impact of ongoing paranoid thoughts.

Chaos and entropy unnerved Yuzuru to no end, making him lose his path of choosing, as if he has suddenly lost his stable orbit. He loved to control everything: an algorithm of certain actions to optimize the final result; not a step aside from a perfectly straight line. He walked on a thin rope like an experienced equilibrist, balancing above a precipice of casual flings and unforeseen temptations. At times it was too easy to forget that he was a young man of flesh and blood and that no human desires were alien to him.

Elegant wristwatch with a leather strap, its hands frozen at _06:09_ ; it’s still too early to start a daily routine, but the sleep is already gone, Yuzuru’s breathing shallow and erratic, heartbeat drumming in his temples, as he is lying on his back with eyes wide open, his whole being overtaken with forbidden longing; a vivid erotic dream he has just had playing out inside his mind over and over again.

Yuzuru is staring at the face of the watch, his eyes intent and unflinching. He tries not to think of a hot incessant pulsing in his loins, warmth spreading through his underbelly and shapely muscular hips, his erection tenting the fabric of his briefs uncomfortably.

An urge to touch is almost unbearable; a vicious need to take his straining cock into his spit-covered fingers to bring himself off is making him tremble and he feels on the edge, like a pulled bowstring ready to snap.

He covers his eyes with a back of his hand, sharp teeth tearing at the bottom lip, as he is overwhelmed by suffocating lust. He can’t help himself as he squeezes his thighs just once, a whiny sob escaping his mouth.

_Don’t think, don’t think of him._

How does his skin smell like? A poignant and exciting musk with a tint of freshness of his aftershave lotion? How does a touch of his broad palms on a naked skin feel like – strong male arms that used to take him into their circle of a strictly friendly and platonic embrace; he knew their touch by heart, but only through the fabric of his training attire and it seemed criminally _not_ enough.

Brian-sensei mentioned to him that Spanish people like to touch a lot simply as a part of communication process; they are bursting with life and sparkle with joy, emotions taking the upper hand due to a hot-blooded temperament. Yuzuru could only nod, agreeing.

There’s no sense in paying attention to something that has never been in there to begin with. It would have been plain stupid to imagine that Javier wants him even in the tenth degree of his own desire.

Yuzuru used to seek out those addictive arms and mischievous eyes, falling into Javier’s embrace for some pitifully brief moments: _sixty-nine_ seconds of pure bliss and then a cruel return back to reality, like an angel that has been kicked out of his personal Eden. Fingers disheveling his dark locks in a friendly, careless caress pierced his aching heart with a thousand of invisible sharp needles.

Javier was open-hearted and straight, devoid of any suggestiveness: _hetero-Javi_ beaming at him with a Hollywood smile, _hetero-Javi_ fooling around with him, as if he were a little kitten; his arms encircling his tiny waist, running through the sweaty hair at the back of his head, oblivious to the effect they had on Yuzuru and his sexually frustrated body. It didn’t mean a thing. Unfortunately, only Yuzuru was playing at this game, for Javier didn’t even know its basic rules.

He _wanted_ him so much it was getting hard to breathe; a raw and vicious need twisting his insides into a painful knot, his dainty fingers leaving red crescents at his palms, as he was bunching his fists helplessly.

Yuzuru didn’t allow himself a lot – some heated, stolen glances from time to time, raking over Javier’s smooth, toned torso with a pair of dark-brown nipples; his intense eyes briefly stopping at the man’s well-defined six-pack and an enticing trail of black hairs under a bellybutton that led to powerful thighs. Yuzuru cursed his urge to fall to his knees in front of his training partner and to bury his face in his flat stomach to inhale an intoxicating scent of his warm skin.

He would trace the quivering abs with feathery touches of his fingertips – a tickling of a butterfly wings; he would pray for Javier not to shove him away. He would seal the sheer strength of his lust in a single open-mouthed kiss that would brand Javier’s skin, leaving an indispensable mark in its wake.

Yuzuru squeezes his eyes shut, bright circles dancing at the periphery of his vision. His heart is ready to burst his ribcage open and he would have spitted it out willingly – a useless, bleeding organ that was the main source of his inner torment.

He saw Javier practically every day: they shared a locker room and an ice-rink and unrequited love was slowly gnawing at Yuzuru’s sanity, threatening to ruin his composure.

_Hi, Yuzu! How are you today?_

_See you tomorrow at practice! Bye!_

Once, upon arriving to an early morning practice session, Yuzuru notices two purple bruises on Javier’s neck, a glaring testimony that he has a girlfriend. Yuzuru’s eyes are boring into the man’s skin and he looks miserable, like a lost child.

Javier notices his fixed stare and he winks playfully, jabbing Yuzuru with an elbow in a good-humored manner.

“Crazy night, Yuzu! I swear this gal is a nymphomaniac!”

Yuzuru wants the floor to swallow him up, he wants to fall into the deepest pits of Hell, so that flames would try to melt his suddenly numb heart; enclosed by a marble crust it became dangerously fragile.

The smile on Yuzuru’s face is ghostly and listless and he practically runs to the ice-rink, dreading to look at the man of his dreams a moment longer.

~

Golden ray of morning light is on Yuzuru’s alabaster skin, it is kissing his wet eyelashes and the tear-streaked smoothness of his cheek.

He is desperately yearning for warmth.

Turning to lie on his stomach, Yuzuru pushes into the crumpled bedsheets, his achingly hard member sensitive to the point of madness. He doesn’t allow himself to move an inch, his hips remaining torturously still; poisoned with an overwhelming lust, paralyzed and crushed by his obscene need.

 _Sixty-nine_ is a mere digit but not inside his dirty mind: he imagines his mouth being violated – one hard thrust followed by another, his throat constricting convulsively, as he is forced to deep-throat; shameful tears are running down his face, as he is trying to take a shaky inhale through his nostrils. He is moaning weakly around the hard member, arousal circulating in his system, making him loose himself.

_Deeper… harder…_

_Yes, that’s it, that’s it…_

A tip of a moist tongue penetrates him without a warning, fluttering over the quivering ring of muscles before dipping into his tightness. He groans lewdly, his thighs trembling, as commanding hands do not let him move, hot and ravenous mouth eating him out with gusto. Acute pleasure shoots through his whole body and he is momentarily blinded by the ferociousness of his climax.

Yuzuru whimpers, shuddering all over, sensing a wet spot spreading on the front of his now soiled briefs.

He has surrendered unconditionally.

69:0

Not in his favour.

~

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to all of my readers! Love ya ^-^


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